


The Silver Road

by Elleth



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/F, Female Friendship, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/pseuds/Elleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Míriel's release from Mandos, she departs for the House of Vairë, but who - and what - helped her come to that decision?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silver Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Adlanth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adlanth/gifts).



_Then the_ fëa _of Míriel was released and came before Manwë and received his blessing; and she went then to Lórien and re-entered her body, and awoke again, as one that cometh out of a deep sleep; and she arose and her body was refreshed. But after she had stood in the twilight of Lórien a long while in thought, remembering her former life, and all the tidings that she had learned, her heart was still sad and she had no desire to return to her own people._

* * *

The land rolled in sandy hillocks and blooming heather toward the mountain pass, a riot of golds and deep purples, whites and reds, dotted by dark junipers and sparse, wind-whipped birches that rippled and swayed under the new light. The wind still carried the odours of honey-cordial and spices and the prickling mineral smell of hot sand. It would have been a reason for Míriel to close her eyes and breathe deeply, but where she stood she was almost on a height with Tirion. Her feet slowed, and then she stopped entirely and stood on the road, observing.  
  
The city rose, as before, to the east of her between the arms of the Pelóri, close enough for country-folk to pass by every now and then on the way to one of the many markets or businesses. She avoided looking at them, dreading to see closed faces or bent shoulders and feel the needling sting of guilt, or even chance recognition, and turned instead to watch the landscape. Below the raised causeway, a shepherdess was guiding a flock of black-faced sheep with curled horns, and if it had been the season, Míriel might have interrupted the woman's singing to inquire after her sheep's fine underwool for carpet-weaving. But since her return she had found all things now had an allotted time beneath the new light.  
  
No matter. Míriel sighed, and moved to the high grass of the roadside when the lowing of oxen and the rumble of wheels in the wagon ruts behind her heralded another cart on the way to the city. Still she did not look, losing herself in the heat of the sun beating down and in the glory of the countryside until a shout made her thoughts snap back into the present.  
  
"Is it you? Truly?"  
  
For a moment she thought the call was not directed at her, rather at some chance meeting of travellers on the road, but the swift slap of bare feet on stone toward her made her turn, clutching her travelling bag to her chest.  
  
The woman before her was wearing plain roughspun work clothes and a leather apron with soot smudges tied over a muscular frame. Another smudge graced her brow below a tousle of thick, red hair. Míriel swallowed, and sought for words, biting the tip of her tongue when all the usual grace of speech eluded her in face of the daughter-in-law she had never met.  
  
"If you think me Míriel Therindë, then it is. And you are the lady Nerdanel, I can tell as much from the tales I heard of you. My husb – _Finwë_. He spoke of you with great fondness."  
  
The other woman stopped short, and for a moment her kind face grew grave. "Yes," she said. "It was mutual, and I could have wished for no better father by marriage, but that – both of it, is past now. But the news came not so long ago – with a messenger from Mandos bringing other tidings – that... that he ransomed himself to bargain your release, and so I was hoping to meet you someday. It happened far earlier than expected. May my father and I take you to the city? We are delivering an order of new masonry tools to the builders' guild for the new towers guarding the Calacirya, but there is still space here, and you must be weary from the road. You came a long way from the Gardens of Lórien."  
  
Still Míriel did not know how to respond. Almost it seemed that Nerdanel's words and demeanour, so suddenly changed that she was sure the smiles must have been at least part protective façade, were as aimless and rambling as the words she held behind her own lips - a myriad question about her son and his sons, the most obscure questions that a wife and mother would know. Whether he had kept the blanket that she had woven for him before his birth, if Nerdanel had worn Míriel's dress for her wedding, whether they had ever hoped or prayed for a daughter, what Fëanáro's hands had been like, whether they believed that Tyelkormo's hair had its source in her own silver, or if any of the children excelled at needlework, whether they had honoured or at least remembered her in some small way – all the momentous, minor instances that Finwë, still beset with all the haste of the living, had never spoken of. And Nerdanel, surely, burdened with the weight of the deeds of her own and with her famed understanding, would have no cause to condemn her.  
  
The words that came surprised her. "I am grateful for your offer, lady, but it has been too long since I have been in Tirion, and although the Noldor may remember me as their erstwhile queen, I am unlikely to be received kindly for my part in their history. Much time will pass ere I can walk among them again without grief – if I ever shall." There was a ripple of muscles in the corner of Nerdanel's eye, minuscule but plainly visible where one accustomed to look for grief might find it. "You know of what I speak."  
  
"How can I not? I hold it my lot to be that of healing these days and rebuilding what was destroyed, but my task is not always easy. I atone for deeds that are not mine, nor my fault, and yet people paint me as though I myself wielded the swords that slew the Teleri, penned the Oath that condemned my family or -"  
  
"- or yourself gave birth to the very fire that consumed them."  
  
Nerdanel nodded. She was biting her lip, and a tear was rolling over her reddening face.  
  
"Then I will not go to Tirion. Although my body was healed and refreshed from my long rest, I doubt I possess your strength, lady, and I will not walk among the Noldor again as long as this strife lasts and the memory of their grief is not faded."  
  
"No," said Nerdanel, turning back to the cart, where her father was sitting and watching them with attentive eyes. Nerdanel retrieved a basket from the cart. "I wish I had your strength, to depart from what hurts me. But to succor you on your road – take some of our provisions." Fresh apples, green and tart, a half-loaf of rye bread, a wedge of dry, yellow cheese and a flask of red wine, Nerdanel bundled them into Míriel's pack with sure hands, and she dared not voice protest in the face of such kindness until Nerdanel stepped back, her basket half-empty, and Míriel's pack bulky and full.  
  
"Where will you go now?" Nerdanel asked, standing on the curb between road and grass as though there were unfinished business between them. Silence settled, and somewhere in the tall grass, a small animal rustled.  
  
"I do not yet know. I may walk Aman until I grow weary – I understand you did so yourself when you were young, and so met my son. Perhaps I shall meet other people who will look on me with kindness born from ignorance, or perhaps I shall find a purpose on the road."  
  
"The lady Indis would be glad of your visit, and you would have quiet there for as long as you wish. We spoke not long ago, she and I – I dwell there sometimes, to give her comfort, when I am not needed in my father's forges. She, too, has lost much – a daughter and one son to Exile, and the one she holds dearest to kingship in Tirion, her grandchildren, and she, too, her husband. She and Findis dwell on the slopes of Taniquetil these days, seeking the same peace in solitude that you seem to wish for. I found it a sanctuary of sorts, and you would not need to wander homeless. She loved you dearly once, with all her heart – still loves you dearly, if I am any judge of love. Go to her."  
  
"Perhaps," Míriel said. "I have been called obstinate before, and although Indis has my love as well, and had it since the day we first met, I may not take your counsel however much I desire it, as I refused healing in Mandos until the shadow lifted from me through the very hands I forsook."  
  
"And for it, and the pain it wrought, we all have grown wiser. I shall hold you blameless if I do not meet you in the House of Indis. Do what you must to be at peace and lift your sadness." Nerdanel lowered her head in a parting gesture. "Blessings go wherever your road may wind," she murmured, and returned to take her place in the cart. Her father clicked his tongue and shook the reins, and the oxen began moving again, but for a long time Míriel felt Nerdanel's eyes upon her as the cart made its cumbersome way toward the city. When it had grow to a speck by the city gates, she made her way down the slope to level ground, spread her cloak for a blanket, and began to feast on the gifts that Nerdanel had given her.  
  
When twilight settled and the air chilled, Míriel rose at last, craning her head as far as she could. South of Tirion, Taniquetil rose unclouded, like a white horn piercing the very sky even toward the first and brightest stars nestled in night blue. The Halls of Ilmarin glimmered faintly in a silver sheen above the snows – but below, where the slopes were still green and the lower airs flowed, stained in golds and oranges, yellows and salmons, the sunset glinted and reflected in the windows of houses built there like swallows' nests, a town of the Vanyar. Highest among them, and most removed – surely that was the house of Indis. But the light was falling swiftly and night spilled down the slopes like indigo dye, and soon the darkness swallowed all but the lit windows above her. Nerdanel's words resounded in her mind, and something fluttered in Míriel's chest with an old memory of her life before she had come to Aman. Had she been a bird, she might have taken wing to fly up the mountain at once.  
  
Míriel slept by the roadside. With dawn light springing from the east behind the mountains while the land still lay slumbering and the grass was drenched with dew, she awoke, and by midday she had made her way to the foot of the mountain. The winding path climbed under her feet until her bones began to ache, and her head swam in the thinning air. She leaned heavily on a gnarled staff of oak that she had picked up from a thicket by the path and even though the breath rattled in her lungs, marched onward.  
  
By dusk the light of Indis' windows fell upon her, and after her insistent knocking the door opened. There was a soft cry in a voice she knew, and then Indis drew her close and kissed her. In the clear, cool air and the stars beginning to shine through the trees by her door, and Indis' heart rapidly beating, she almost believed they might be standing underneath the star-speckled night of Cuiviénen again, and being pulled inside she might as well have entered into the golden light of Laurelin once more.  
  
It was not merely from tiredness that Míriel gratefully accepted Indis' offer of a bath after they had shared a late meal. After washing in brooks and rivers, and sleeping on the ground since she had emerged from Lórien, merely to rinse the dust of the road from her skin with steaming water was a luxury, and to soak the weariness of the steep, unrelenting ascent up the mountain from her bones a blessing. She squeezed the sponge over her head, closing her eyes against the warm droplets when the door slid open and Indis' light footfall entered the bathing chamber accompanied by a draft of cool air.  
  
Indis gave her an apologetic smile. "I warmed the towels for you; I know the house is a little chill. I shall not disturb you longer."  
  
"You are not disturbing me; please stay," Míriel said, and caught Indis' wrist when she passed by the tub. "I would be glad of the company."  
  
Indis nodded briefly, and sat on the tiles by the tub. A small puddle of water soaked into the hem of her plain white dress, but she seemed not to mind, leaned her head on the rim of the tub close to Míriel's own, and smiled. "Is there anything that you would speak of, or is it enough to be silent?"  
  
"Silence would be wonderful. There are too many things that we need to talk about, and will - we will be filling enough silences before the world ends."  
  
Indis laughed softly, a puff of air between her lips. Míriel shivered.  
  
"Are you cold?" Indis' brow knitted in concern. "You seem frailer than when I last saw you, and the body is the same that bore Fëanáro, is it not? I can see the scars." Her hand dipped into the water and over the fine silvery lines that threaded over Míriel's hips and belly, and she ignored the answering stutter of her heart, swallowing hard before she spoke.  
  
"It is the same, though refreshed and healed from the plight that... burdened it before," Míriel said, and then fell silent again, feeling her muscles tensing under Indis' hand despite the steaming water. "But I would rather not talk of it this night, neither of my body nor of my son, nor of what ails me. Let me rest without grief here for a little."  
  
"I shall," came the soft reply, barely audible over the tinkle of water as Indis withdrew her hand. "You always enjoyed my singing. I would sing you to rest if you let me."  
  
The words, kind though they were, served only to spur more recollection. "One of my grandsons was a singer, was he not? Makalaurë. Finwë spoke of him."  
  
"And so were some of my grandchildren. Findekáno played the harp, and Findaráto showed great promise, although he was more interested in the hewing of stone and dreaming into the day when there was opportunity. And you should have heard Artanis – she reminded me of you in many ways – gentle, forceful, obstinate, and far too alike to Fëanáro to ever live in peace with him. But she sang like a _cirincë_ , though in a far deeper voice, when the mood took her. I spent many hours teaching her, and we had much joy together. Sometimes I almost thought she might have been your daughter, especially when her hair shone silver in Telperion's light." Indis' voice had grown wistful, and when Míriel turned to look at her, she was surprised that Indis was gazing toward the dark window and through it to nothing at all, though her fingers had twined in Míriel's damp hair at the nape of her neck.  
  
"And where is the light and joy about you that you sought to spread before? You need this silence as much as I do, do you not? Let us give each other that permission, just for tonight," Míriel said.  
  
Indis hesitated, as though he were admitting something long kept behind her lips. "Too much talk of nothing, and too much silence, I had both, and too much of both can go amiss. Here grief is slow to pass, years though it has been since Finwë and I last spoke, or my children and theirs last came to me."  
  
"Finwë is gone and we live, Indis. Would I could let his _fëa_ have the rest he deserves. He arrived in the Halls still burdened by the memory of his _hröa_ that remained with him, and until he understood that he had been slain, and was in safety... it took a long time. And it will be slow work to cleanse the stain of Moringotto from him, although his abstaining from life is taken as a first step upon the road toward healing. And what shall we do now, both widowed? Shall we cause another Statute? _Namna Indis Míriello_ , for indulging in each other, as we did once, now that our childbearing days are long over and we would remain barren even if the desire for children remained with us, seeking refuge in the lust of the body that is so seldom spoken of, and two women at that?"  
  
Indis laughed softly. "Shall we indeed. So much was easier before we departed across the sea, and before choices and statutes were required, and before our wills were held as set in stone rather than in the heart, was it not? Finwë often said the same to me when we thought of you."  
  
She offered a slender hand, her long fingers curling easily around Míriel's delicate ones when she did not respond. "Your hands are soft. None of the callouses you had before. Have you done no needlework yet?"  
  
"Not since I returned, and that urge above all was my reason to first sue for pardon and release with Vairë and Námo. She understood me better than he did, I think, for... he is as he must be, pitiless when it comes to the dooms that he proclaims, but not uncaring even if his words must be cruel. I do not grieve for Fëanáro being bound in Mandos until the great end, for I know now that it takes the most momentous occasions to move him from his obstinacy. Much of me went into him, I think... but as it is, it is. At least he is not alone, or will not remain so."  
  
"That is a strange thing to take comfort from."  
  
"Why? The _fëa_ is solitary when unhoused – believe me. But the solitude is not always a source of joy, and it is good that he at least has his father to help him with the remembrance of his former life. That is when much grows clear to the heart and mind, and to the eyes, that was nebulous before. The dead have a keen gaze sometimes, but it remains that, a gaze, nothing active without the body – and that, I think, first sent me stirring again. I wished I could affix my observations, as I once did, and work my hands again, rather than fingers that I knew were only a memory, and impotent as long as I did not return to life. Vairë understood. She and Nienna were the ones to support my release."  
  
"And yet you talk as one still half in Mandos – as though you do not belong to the world of the living again entirely." Once again Indis sounded concerned.  
  
"Perhaps not yet. But..." Míriel paused. "...give me needles and thread, and you shall soon see me returned to life, returned truly beyond my mere presence here."  
  
"I shall see it done – tomorrow. It is late, your bathwater grows tepid, and you should rest." Finally Indis sounded relieved, or if not that, then reassured. Míriel climbed from the tub, found herself bundled into soft towels, and was eased toward the bed. Indis remained with her that night, and still slept soundly by the time sunrise light streamed into the eastern windows.  
  
Below them all lay wrapped in clouds – climbing up the mountainside in gauze whorls, and spreading over Calacirya like a blanket, a sheep wool fleece of morning mist that sheltered the sleeping world beneath it. But the air in the room was moist and chill, and cold rose from the flagstones into her bare feet and legs. The grass outside the window glittered with a netting of rime. A silver lining, the frost thawing, was shining upon the plants by the time Míriel felt a warm presence behind her.  
  
"Good morning. Did you rest well?" Indis' brushed a hand down her back and kissed her shoulder.  
  
"I did." She leaned into the touch against the better instinct to draw away, but Indis must have noticed that the movement was forced, because she drew a step back and gathered up the dress she had discarded carelessly the past evening before they had gone to bed.  
  
"Would you rather have a breakfast first, or devote time to your craft? If so, I will call you at lunchtime and tend to the house while you work. I have no servants here, and Findis only has two hands of her own. Before you object - you are my guest. I will not have you raise a finger in the household."  
  
Míriel frowned. "I would work rather than sit idle, and... I am not very hungry. A cup of tea would do me well, but that is all. And if I may not help you, then I would like to try my hand at needle lace, to begin with."  
  
Indis smiled and nodded. In short order Míriel had been supplied with clothes that were a little too large to fit her well, while Indis took her road-dusted travelling gown and cloak to wash. She had a blanket as well, a chair by the window, and a pot of tea, steeped strong and black. And hair-fine silver thread and the needles to work with. Almost of their own accord, Míriel's hands set to twisting the stitches into honeycombs and rose wheels, and her lips took up the murmured tune of up-over-under-up-over-under, shaping the thread into sun and stars and moon as the day spun onward. A landscape formed without her decision, a road snaking into the distance under a clouded sky.  
  
But when she let the needle sink, Míriel still felt cold, and the delirious joy of creating vanished in a flash of recognition. She had made nothing of meaning, but what lay before her: The sun had burned holes into the clouds, and in the world below she could see the raised causeway – the same that she had walked the day before, the same she had met Nerdanel on, meandering toward the city, and the landscape was all minuscule heather-blooms in glinting silver on the length of lacework that lay bunched in her lap. After the swift movement of her fingers, her joints had begun to ache. Míriel rolled the lace carefully, to avoid snapping even a single thread. Dissatisfied though she was, it remained her work, and loving the works of their own minds and bodies too much had ever been a fault of the Noldor. She set it aside and went in search of Indis.  
  
Much the same repeated the next day, and on many after that. Míriel began to craft, all those arts that she had delighted in before, and after only a little while of joyful labour found there was no meaning to her crafting. The colours of her weft flashed in the least light whenever the shuttle passed through the fabric, and a length of white and golden brocade grew under Míriel's hands that made Indis exclaim in delight, and it was only due to her that Míriel did not unravel the work again, setting that aside as well.  
  
In a season, as the world spun on toward autumn below, Míriel's assigned chamber grew cluttered. Findis laughed her sweet laugh and called it a silk-moth's lair in jest for all the threads that lay unspun and all the works abandoned. Míriel laughed with her, and Indis looked from one to the other in some amusement at the banter before her face sobered again.  
  
"Why is it that all the works of your hands have gone unfinished? You abandoned every single one."  
  
"I cannot say. Is there anything to say?" Míriel, who had been helping clear away scattered books throughout the house and re-sort them into their shelves in the library, set down her stack of histories. "Perhaps I cannot create in solitude. Perhaps – Nerdanel said this the first time we met, and the last time she visited, also, we have all grown too wise for our own good. My embroideries, as industrious as I was in the days before Fëanáro was conceived and I spent my strength on him, and as lauded for their beauty they still are – they were simple. Commonplace. The Trees... flames, flowers, birds, the stars, water. The world."  
  
"And the world has changed, is that what you mean to say?" Indis paused in her movement and rested a hand on Míriel's arm.  
  
"Or we have changed faster than it, as slow as Arda goes. And I – sometimes I feel as though I hang suspended in its threads. I have missed much of life as it should have been – the noontide of Aman, that was the time of you and your family, as golden and glorious as you yourself are. It is fitting that I returned now that the Trees are extinguished and weaker lights have taken their place."  
  
"Telperion was silver, and neither of the Trees was lesser than the other."  
  
"And his hours, then as now, were a time of rest, not of life lived openly. Perhaps it is my lot that I should always be but a shadow of you. Hush – I do not begrudge you your light." She laid a finger over Indis' lips to silence her objections, and followed it with a kiss. "But what say you, should we have a Mingling of the Lights, such as we can make? Let me fetch my needles and thread – I will work while you will sing."  
  
Indis nodded.  
  
When Míriel returned with her implements, Findis had gone and Indis had seated herself with a small, golden-wooded harp on her lap. "It will not be a matter of dancing, for anything but your needles," she said. "Sit with me; what should our Mingling be about?"  
  
"Our families," said Míriel, picking up a thread long abandoned, the silver lace of the winding road. "Sing me those things we have not spoken of yet. Of Irimë, and of your children's children, and of my son and his sons. I would know more of them."  
  
Indis breathed deeply, and closed her eyes, resting her fingers on the harp strings, and then she sang.  
  
Dusk was falling swiftly outside the windows by the time Míriel's thread and Indis' voice were spent. The lace that rolled from Míriel's lap in a slender, narrow band was twisted into an array of deeds and figures upon an erstwhile lonely road: Indis, rapt, traced her fingers over young Fëanáro's prowess at Nerdanel's side, over the running children Artanis and Irissë had been, over Itaril's first silver-footed steps on her mother's hand, and Nerdanel, Anairë and Eärwen, their heads held high, turning from the rebellion and the exile that would take their families from them, each returning to such healings that they might bestow and receive.  
  
"They look as though they truly live," said Indis. Tears were glinting in her eyes, threatening to spill.  
  
"And this is what I seek and desire," Míriel replied. "This is my purpose, I think, to record the days of our Houses in such ways that people will see the good and the beauty in it, not merely the evil." Her fingers sought a drop of red where she had stung herself working, dying her son's sword-blade red, lifted high in the light of torches in the square beneath the Mindon. "But even here I cannot see with the eyes of Manwë, or hear like Varda how our children cry in the world without. And I will not go among the other Vanyar to spoil the joy of Ilmarin with my weeping. Let Ingwë sit at Manwë's feet and let Arafinwë rule in Tirion, but that is no longer for me. I will go to the House of Vairë and ask to be taken into her service. For does she not also know all that transpires? Does she not weave the tapestries that grace Námo's endless halls, and should I have had that thought without purpose? I would add my works to it."  
  
Indis was silent again, and putting aside her harp she rose. "Is that all the thought that came to you? To die again, for none among the living has ever entered Vairë's domain? What of your coming here to find life, not death?"  
  
"But I will _have_ life – because ghostly fingers cannot weave, and because our families truly live, not merely because you sang them so. I would be a poor broideress without tidings. I learned that here, and you helped me see that it is so." Kneeling, Míriel pressed a kiss to her fingers, speaking gently and swiftly. "But can you sing with certainty of them at this very moment? For now our Houses have entered into the world without Aman, and no living mouths here will spell their fates. And how shall I, as one alone, accomplish within time what they all do? Every day that transpires there is lived by them all. But time passes differently in the domains of the Valar if they will it so. It would give me time to work it all, if they grant my wish. I had my time here, and remembering it will let me record in peace."  
  
"And will you return to me?" Indis pulled Míriel to her feet, gently.  
  
"When the Noldor have passed from the world without and there is nothing more for me to make. But with every slain Elf who may emerge from death wiser for having seen my work, a little of my thoughts and mind will come to you as well. For you, you above all others have my love, a long wait though it may become until I come to you again."  
  
* * *  
  
 _Therefore she went to the doors of the House of Vairë and prayed to be admitted; and this prayer was granted, although in that House none of the living dwelt nor have any others ever entered it in the body. But Míriel was accepted by Vairë and became her chief handmaid; and all tidings of the Noldor down the years from their beginning were brought to her; and she wove them in webs historial, so fair and skilled that they seemed to live, imperishable, shining with a light of many hues fairer than are known to Middle-earth._

**Author's Note:**

> Many of the observations, as well as the bookend paragraphs in italics, are taken directly from the Silmarillion and the various texts about Finwë and Míriel in Morgoth's Ring. 
> 
> Cirinci (sg. cirincë) are little scarlet birds that lived on Númenor, and described as having very melodious, piping voices. It is generally assumed that they were brought there as gift from the visiting Eldar, so I took the liberty as having them in Aman as well. As Galadriel's voice is described as considerably deeper than ordinary for a woman, I felt that needed mentioning as well. 
> 
> Namna Indis Míriello is coined, as is hinted in the text, after the Statute of Finwë and Míriel. 
> 
> Fëa and hröa – Quenya terms for spirit and body.
> 
> \---
> 
> Many, many thanks to Anna and GG for the betaing, open ears and inboxes, and for being lovely in general. I'd be lost without you, ladies. Adlanth, I hope the fill fit your ideas at least a little and that you enjoyed reading it - thanks for giving me such a wide open field to play in.


End file.
